


The Seven Sins of Shirou Emiya

by Exstarsis



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Naughty, Parody, Sex, Smut, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, where did this character development come from?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exstarsis/pseuds/Exstarsis
Summary: He calls himself Shirou, but he's the product of a Grail War nobody wanted to see. Now he's been sent on a mission back in time, to when young Morgan, sister of Artoria, needs his help to come into her full power. This is plot-lite, characterization-lite slightly tongue-in-cheek smut.
Relationships: Emiya Shirou/Morgan Le Faye, Emiya Shirou/Morgan le Fay
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Beast I

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get this out of my head, so here it is.

He was the winter wood, with the roots cracking through the frozen ground. He was the stag starving in the snow. He was the wolves devouring the young and the ravens feeding on their bones. The wind tousled the branches of his hair and swept a white cloak across his dead skin.

He was the winter wood. And then all at once, Shirou Emiya awoke in the snow, with a dragon in his chest and the taste of murder on his tongue. He thought he’d committed every possible sin in the Holy Grail War—but the bearded man who had called out to him said he had one more task before he could rest. 

He had to save the young Morgan le Fay from her fate. And he could only do it because of all that he’d learned in that Grail War. The darkness that had consumed him made him the only fit vessel for the dragon spirit that had invaded him, and he knew implicitly what had to happen.

When the teenage girl in a cloak ran past him, not noticing him because of how the winter wood still wrapped around him, he watched her move. Although her face was frantic, her hips were ripe and rounded even through her cloak. 

_ Yes. _ The dragon in him stirred, its fire racing through his flesh. This was a task he could do.

The armored men chasing the girl came next, following her trail with dogs and swords. Shirou stepped out from the tree he’d been waiting beside, swinging the sword he projected in a savage arc. Two of the men died immediately, while the other four panicked, falling over themselves to get away from him. They died too, blood spraying over Shirou. The last of them begged, “Please, please, no. Who… who are you?”

“The devil,” Shirou told them. “And you were chasing my bride.”

He let the sword evaporate and turned to walk after the young and innocent form of Morgan le Fay, leaving bloodied footsteps in the snow.

Shirou found her in a tree, trying desperately to stifle her panting breaths. The greenery obscured her, but he’d been the winter wood and the tree itself whispered to him of its sweet treasure.

“Come down, lady,” he commanded, and a pair of blue eyes peeped down at him nervously. He knew what she saw could not be reassuring: even without the blood liberally coating him, black and red tattoos covered most of his skin: the price he’d paid for his ultimate victory.

But she seemed less frightened of him than of her pursuers. “I can’t!”

Shirou clenched his fist and opened it, and the tree released the branch she perched on. Branch and girl both dropped toward him and he punched the branch aside while catching the girl in his other arm.

“Now,” he told her, softly, without releasing her. “When I say come in the future, you will  _ come _ . Do you understand?”

She touched the blood streaking his face, and then tasted her fingers. Her eyes widened at the steel in his blood and she whispered, “Who are you?”

He set her on her feet. “Call me whatever you please.” He caressed her cheek with his knuckles, and she shivered. “I’m here to protect you, and to give you the power you need to become more than that girl’s sister.”

An odd light glittered in Morgan’s eyes. “Really? How?”

Actions always spoke louder than words for Shirou, so he slipped his hand behind Morgan’s neck and kissed her. She was surprised at first, her mouth cold and closed. But when he drove his tongue through her lips, she gasped and opened her mouth, letting him ravage the virgin space beyond. She clutched at him, overwhelmed by his assault and unable to turn her head away because of how he held her.

Finally, his dragon’s fire burning through his bones, Shirou released her. “Now, you will either take me to a place where you are comfortable, or I will take you right here in the snow. It makes no difference to me.”

“I—I—I—” Words failed the girl, and Shirou shrugged, pulling her to him again. She blurted out “Wait! My cottage! It’s not far!”

He allowed her to lead him there, once again watching her hips sway as she hurried along. As soon as he stepped over the threshold of the rude little hut she called a cottage, he put his hands on those hips, running his palms over the curves and then pulling her back against his chest.

“The fire,” she squeaked. “I’ll build up the fire.”

Shirou laughed the dry rasping laugh that was all he had left. “We need no hearth fire, Morgan le Fay. Unless you’ve changed your mind about wanting power of your own?”

It didn’t really matter if she had. He had his mission and he would fulfill it. But the Holy Grail War that had destroyed his laugh, his ability to love and his childish dreams had also made him a little cruel.

She hesitated, thinking about his question, and while she did, he moved his hands from her hips to her high breasts, straining at the corset she’d bound them into. She gave a small shriek, and then froze, panting, in his arms.

“I will spill such power into you, Morgan,” he whispered in her ear as he began to unlace the corset. “Seven times will I spill into you, and each time will be more powerful than before, and you will reign as queen in your own power, and be consort to a god.”

He tugged out the laces and her breasts overflowed the cloth and spilled into his hands. With hands that had forgotten gentleness, he squeezed, and smelled the salt of the tears that pricked the corner of young Morgan’s eyes. He massaged the mounds of flesh, his fingers sinking into their pillowy softness. Each time he brushed her nipples, she whimpered and the little sounds only sharpened his appetite for her body. She was so very innocent. It was obvious nobody had ever touched her like this, even herself. But with his own hands he would awaken her to the delights of her body. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “Give me the power. Whatever it takes. I want it.”

“Good,” he said in her ear, and it came out as the dragon’s growl. He turned her around and finished pulling the corset off of her, then ripped the dress that still half covered her breasts down to her waist. 

Once again she squeaked, and tried to cover herself. He allowed it only so he could yank off her skirt and shed his own clothes. When he was done, he stood before her in his blood and blackened tattoos, the dragon’s fire raging through his blood and her own sweet flesh stiffening his oversized cock.

She stood with her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed over her chest, with only a loincloth covering her groin. Her waist was tiny compared to her hips, a sign that she’d gone long periods without enough to eat—but had times of plenty when her hips and breasts could both fulfill their potential. Her creamy skin was clean where it had been covered by her clothes, because even living alone in the forest, Morgan le Fay tried to remain pure.

The dragon growled inside him. It knew very well what to do with purity. Shirou stepped toward the maiden, until his cock pressed against her soft belly. “You can keep your arms there if you like,” he told her softly. “It makes no difference to me. But the magic may not be as powerful if you don’t embrace it.”

Slowly, trembling against his body, she unfolded her arms and put them around his shoulders. “Please, my lord,” she whispered. “Do with me as thou wilt.”

He ran his hands over her breasts and down her hips again, and then dragged his nails over the soft flesh of her behind. She stood absolutely still as he did this, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. When he kissed her once again, her mouth was tongue was still and passive underneath his.

“Come, Morgan. This is only the coldest of embraces. Here, I know what will help.” He pushed on her shoulders and forced her to her knees. “You fear a man’s touch. So kneel. Explore that which will take you to heights of pleasure and power.” 

He brushed his cock across her virgin lips. She blinked, her eyes crossing a little as she tried to see. Then she brought her hands up and wrapped them around Shirou’s shaft. After an experimental squeeze, she stroked her palms along his flesh. A shiver of delight he’d thought long lost ran down his spine and he took her chin in one hand.

“Open,” he said encouragingly, and her lips parted once more, just enough that she could taste the tip of his cock. The flick of her tongue sent the dragon’s fire racing through his head, and his fist clenched as he tried to hold back the raging hunger that had been installed into him. For maximum efficiency, she had to welcome him.

Apparently feeling even more encouraged by the clenching of his fist and the breath hissing through his teeth, Morgan opened her mouth wider, holding his cock with both hands like something she was about to eat. But when she took him into her mouth, she was sweetly, delicately careful about keeping her teeth away from his skin.

“Mmm,” she said, her mouth stretching wide. At first she washed him with her tongue, encircling him with sweeping motions while squeezing lightly and rhythmically with her hands. Then, as she swallowed excess saliva and Shirou groaned at the inadvertent suction, her eyes lit up. 

Soon her bright eyes stared up into his as her jaw worked feverishly to suckle at him. Her mouth, so hot and wet, made his iron spine shudder and his throat dry. To seize back control, he took her head in his hands and began to slowly thrust in and out of her mouth. Her stifled moans became more frantic as she tried to keep up with him, and his erection intensified at the minor vibrations they sent through it. 

One of her hands left her cock and she squeezed her own breast, rubbing her palm over her nipple and wiggling with a desperate but innocent lust. The sight was mesmerizing and the pace at which he fucked her mouth almost gagged her. The convulsive clenching of the back of her throat sent stars across his vision. Shirou could smell the nectar dripping between her legs. It was time. 

Once upon a time, he could have restrained himself longer for his partner’s pleasure, as he had with Rin and Sakura and Artoria. But the dragon’s fire made him nearly mad with the desire for release, and her mouth was not where the first spill should be.

When he could bear it no longer, he yanked himself away from her and dragged her up his body until he could impale her dripping pussy with his rod.  He drove himself into her tight, slick passage, his cock nestling in the inner folds of her body as she clenched around him. The way she squeezed him was amazing: so much better than other pussies he’d invaded. Just being inside her sent frissons of pleasure down his spine, insistently commanding him onto the main event. She gave a high-pitched cry and leaned backwards, balancing against his own upper body, writing against his cock, every point of contact between them a spark that caused her to shudder. 

Only then did he carry her to the pile of straw that passed for her bed, where he put her on her back and then pushed her ankles around her ears. She squirmed against his weight, her eyes wide and her breath coming in shallow, animalistic pants.

As soon as he had her positioned in the straw he began to drive into her, gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise her. She squeaked with each thrust, her eyes glazing over. Slowly, her squeaks became hoarse cries as he drove himself against the deepest parts of her.

He growled, digging his nails in as the dragon rose in him, fucking her harder, his balls slapping against her ass. Her little face contorted as waves of pleasure swept over her, readying her body for how the dragon’s power would fill her. 

And then the dragon could wait no longer. Maddened by lust and too much time, it roared through Shirou, causing his the pace of his pounding to speed up dramatically. Morgan’s cries became one long wail until she had no breath left to cry out and her face grew flushed.

He slammed himself into her more, shoving her hard into the straw with nearly his full weight behind every thrust. Each of the girl’s shrieks told him he was giving her exactly what she needed. He bared his teeth and then grabbed her breast with one hand, twisting her nipple hard. Her entire body bucked against him and she began to keen, her passage spasming around him and driving him down the final slope to his own climax. 

Then Shirou exploded inside her. With a mighty roar his seed spurted, filling her, marking her, claiming her for the dragon.  Bliss squeezed him tight, the first of seven loads of power spilling from him, overflowing with her juices and spreading through the rest of her body. He kept up his forceful fucking until he finally sensed that the entire load had been delivered, and then slowly withdrew, letting Morgan’s feet return to a more normal position.

She stared up at the filthy thatch above them, unblinking as the waves of power and pleasure coursed through her. He watched in mild interest, waiting. At last her gaze transferred to him. 

“Now what?” Her voice was strange and distant.

Shirou curved his mouth in his best facsimile of a smile. “That was one. We have six more times to go.”


	2. Beast II

Young Morgan le Fay lay in the straw, staring up at the thatched roof and running her fingertips lightly over her reddened breasts with their swollen nipples, down her ribcage, across her navel and down to the damp golden curls between her legs. There she dipped her fingers in the sticky liquid leaking from her and brought them to her nose. Her pink tongue darted out for a taste of the combined salty fluids. Then her distracted blue gaze shifted over to Shirou, crouched beside her. “More times?”

Shirou, already growing erect again, reached out and pulled her fingers to his own mouth. “Oh yes.” He finished cleaning her fingers, sucking on each one, and the scent of her sex made him growl with the need to bury his face between her legs and taste her fully.

The dragon within him would allow this, even wished for it, but—

“Not here, though. Come, stand up.” Shirou rose to his full height and waited for her to swing her feet around and join him. She hunched her shoulders as she did, looking around for the remnants of her dress.

He caught and lifted her chin. “We passed through a clearing on the way here. Lead me there now.”

“But my dress— the snow—” she protested, her eyes wide.

The surprised little o of her mouth was too much for Shirou. The memory of lips so recently around his cock and that wet hole suckling at him swept over him. He caught her face in both his hands and kissed her with the same brutality he’d used fucking her only a few moments ago. Shocked, she whimpered and struggled against his hands—but only for a moment. Then her hot little hands were sliding over his chest as she surrendered to him.

The dragon’s fire sizzled in Shirou’s blood and reluctantly, he withdrew from her. His voice a low growl of desire, he said, “Do the common beasts wear clothes in the snow? You have the power of the dragon within you. Cold will not harm you tonight. Now take me to the clearing.”

Lowering her head, she led him to the door. Barefoot and naked they walked through the midnight garden around her cottage, her delicate feet leaving footprints in the cleared ground. When she reached the snow beyond the beds, she hesitated and then stepped onto the trampled white. 

“Oh!” she said, but she remained where she stood, her knees trembling. “You said—it’s cold!”

“It’s snow. I said it wouldn’t harm you, not that you wouldn’t feel it. Lead on, before I grow impatient.”

“It’s just a clearing,” she mumbled, slowly beginning to walk again, her arms crossed tight over her breasts. “Wouldn’t a fire inside be nicer?”

Shirou thought of cooking over a cozy fire, and then let the thought dissolve back to dust. “I’m not here to play house. The next spill must be in a place where the common beasts rut. If you have already decided to reject the power offered…” She couldn’t be allowed to keep only a partial installation of the dragon’s power. That was one of the reasons he had been given this task: he had demonstrated the fortitude to handle any of the possible outcomes.

Morgan looked over her shoulder at him, her pale hair swaying across her lower back. The twin lines of her neck reminded him of a curved sword he’d forgotten the name of. Then she said, “No. I won’t reject it.”

Once again the harsh rasp that passed for Shirou’s laughter escaped him. “We’ll see.”

The clearing was dominated by a fallen tree that slanted from one side of the open space to another. A low tumble of rocks, mostly covered by leaf-mold but restricting further growth, prevented anything from taking advantage of the opening in the canopy. On a summer day, the clearing might have been a beautiful place, with white butterflies in sunbeams and baby animals first meeting the world. In the winter, snow drifting against the fallen tree, it was desolate: a place where animals had frozen to death and their desperate companions gnawed their icy flesh down to the bone. 

It was the season of death but also, for predators, the season to breed. This was the place where the male caught the fleeing female, held her down with his claws as he plunged into her over and over, her steaming breath and frantic yelps urging him to an ever more aggressive assault. Shirou could smell the lingering scent of recent activities, and see where the snow’s crust had been broken and flattened by flailing limbs. It pleased him.

He caught Morgan by the hip as she stood at the edge of the clearing, regarding the drifts with doubt. As he traced his fingers through the downy hairs standing on end as her body reacted to the cold, she startled.

“Ah! Oh… Well, here we are.” Once again she was nervous, which both amused and excited him. He drew his nails across her backside again, and this time she reacted instantly by closing her eyes and tilting her head back with a gasp. The curve of her throat begged for him to run his teeth along it and feel the pumping of her pulse with his tongue.

_Here is good_, whispered the dragon’s fire simmering in his blood. _Here. Take her._

Shirou inhaled sharply and then picked Morgan up, slinging her over his shoulder and carrying her the last few yards to the base of the slanting tree. Her breasts jounced against his shoulder blade while each erect nipple remained pressed against his skin. Her fingernails dug into his lower back, sending a jolt of pleasure down through his spine as his muscles contracted. He responded by digging his own nails into the swell of her ass and she squeaked, her hands relaxing.

Then he lowered her to the slanted tree. Instinctively she straddled it, her legs spread wide, as she looked around with that wide-eyed innocence, her bare breasts heaving as she caught her shortened breath. “Here?”

In answer he pushed her back against the tree. Soon he would serve the dragon as he’d been commanded, but first… first he would indulge himself a little. Her beautiful pale skin was life against both the white snow and the rough darkness of the fallen tree. Her bright hair draped over the tree like a myth of spun gold. He put his own dark, red-tattooed hand on her stomach, feeling the heat that radiated off her. Already the snow between her body and the tree was melting.

Shirou smiled. He scooped up two handfuls of snow and cupped them against her breasts. She shrieked and tried to wiggle away from him, her hands pushing at his forearms to try and free herself. “Cold, that’s _cold_,” she moaned.

Her squirming aroused him further and he pressed himself against her, rubbing his cock absently against the line of her thigh. He held the snow in place for another moment, enjoying her twitching and trembling. Then he lifted his hands and let the packed snow fall away. Her breasts were still pale, perfect moons, reddened only at the tips and where he’d marked her. But when he brushed his fingers across her nipples, they were stiff and cold.

With something approaching a forgotten eagerness, he took one of the buds into his mouth, replacing the cold of the snow with the hotness of his mouth and his wet tongue. Morgan groaned deep in her chest and one of her hands tangled in his hair, pressing him closer while her other hand squeezed his shoulder. By the time he’d finally brought her nipple back to human body temperature, she was breathing in short little pants. When he took her other still-cold nipple into her mouth, she gave a shriek and wrapped her legs around his waist, convulsively jerking her hips toward his.

_Now_, moaned the dragon’s fire. _Now. Spill into her._

Shirou ignored the silent voice. He’d fulfill his task soon enough, but right now Morgan was _his_ and he wasn’t going to deprive himself. Instead he caught her flailing, scrabbling arms and pinned her wrists over her head as he continued to tweak and tease her nipple until it too was as hot as such a beauty’s skin ought to be.

When he straightened, he pushed her knees apart so her legs were no longer clamped around him. She stared at him wildly, her throat working convulsively but no words emerging. Finally, she said, “You aren’t—”

With an unholy grin, he picked up two more handfuls of snow and spread it across her inner thighs and her pussy. She howled. 

“Yeah,” he told her. “This is what it means to become a primal thing. Man pretends he isn’t a common beast… but we’re all born that way, Morgan.”

Staring at him with glazed eyes, she reached between her legs. He once again caught her wrists. This time he pushed them to her breasts and her animal moan as she cupped herself sent a frisson down his spine that almost broke his control.

But with another deep breath he instead focused between her legs, where the snow had melted entirely. He ran his fingers lightly up her inner thighs, feeling the coolness of the skin and noticing how she trembled and pinched her own nipples at his lightest touch. He liked that. It made the muscles in groin and lower back clench in anticipation.

Then he lowered his head between her legs and began to lap at her like a cat drinking from a winter pool. She cried out at first, a shriek that vanished in the upper registers. Then she began to whimper with each flick of his tongue, wordlessly begging him to stop tormenting her. As the winter pool thawed to spring and then overflowed in hot summer, she twisted, convulsing against him until he pinned her legs down with his strong hands. 

His own cock twitched in time with her whimpers, sending demands up his spine along with the dragon’s fire. Her taste and heat was intoxicating, and he _needed _to shove his cock into her.

With a growl, he lifted his head, and her last whimper became a groan. Almost maddened with a now overwhelming need, he flipped her over, so that her breasts and soft belly pressed into the rough, jagged bark of the dead tree. She lifted her head, her now-tangled hair spilling down her back. Her round ass jutted up in a perfect pale curve and he paused just a moment to draw his finger down the furrow there to her back hole and there lightly encircle the clenched opening.

_Later…_ the dragon’s fire promised him, and he agreed. _Later_ would happen, even if she gave up the struggle before it was time.

Then he adjusted her hips, gripping the soft flesh of her hips, and stabbed himself into her soaked core. Fluid gushed around his cock, making her inner passage so slippery that his hips slammed into her ass. It was like folds of silk squeezed him. He jerked upward, shoving his cock roughly against her insides, and she mewled like a hungry kitten begging for more.

Grasping her hips more firmly, holding her so he could hit that spot of animal pleasure with each slam of their hips together, he began to fuck her. Her breasts and torso, shoved and dragged across the dead tree with his every thrust became a single circuit of sensation that merged both pleasure and pain and she squealed like the predator’s mate as she clawed the dead wood beneath her.

The dragon’s fire, denied so long, refused to allow him to enjoy her squeals long. Once again it roared through him, taking over his body to finish. His hands moved from her hips up to her ribcage and then her shoulders, hauling her up so that her back arched. Then he had her breasts in his taloned hands, squeezing them hard as he pounded into her in an animal frenzy, her head falling back against his shoulder as she screamed out her pleasure to the sky.

“There!” called an unfamiliar and unwelcome voice. “There! The devil takes his bride! Quick, while he’s distracted!”

As Shirou’s seed gushed into Morgan’s boneless body, armored men on horseback appeared at the far side of the clearing. He rolled his eyes toward them disdainfully as his hips continued to move. While he finished the second spill of power, they dismounted and drew their swords.

Then, as they stalked toward him and his mate, one man chanting in another tongue, he tenderly laid Morgan back on the dead tree, turned, and casually slashed the closest man’s throat. He’d been smart enough to try and protect such a vulnerable area with a gorget, but not smart enough to stay out of the woods that night. He would have no second chances.

With a snarl, Shirou leapt toward the chanting man. The punch daggers that he’d projected instinctively when he struck the soldier left a long, gaping hole down the torso of his next enemy, and cut the thigh artery of another man. 

After that, he lost track. Some of the horses fled, but others, trapped when their terrified riders tried to remount, bled out their last in the snow alongside the humans. By the time Shirou was done, half the clearing was crimson with bloodied snow.

He gazed dispassionately at the carnage and then returned to his mate. She still lay on the tilted tree, watching him with blank eyes as she panted. Blood had spattered her body, and this pleased Shirou. He turned her, so she was once again facing the sky. He smeared his bloody hands over her breasts and then once again tasted her nipples. He found he preferred them with blood rather than snow.

Then he inspected the scratches on her stomach where the tree had rubbed her nearly raw. Carefully he traced the blood of his defeated enemies over the scratches and watched in satisfaction as it sank into her skin. The wounds healed, marking her with red tattoos along her stomach that matched his own. A jolt of fierce delight raced through him at the sign of his claim and he lowered his head to trace the marks and her navel itself with his tongue.

“Before was for the dragon,” he told her when he finally lifted his head. She gazed back at him in passive exhaustion. “This is for me.” And once again, he sheathed himself in her limp form, returning to fucking her as if nothing at all had happened.


	3. Beast III

Shirou stood straddling the fallen tree where he’d laid his mate, looking down at her heaving, bloodstained form. Once again the tungsten dragon that possessed him moved within him, and he placed his hand on one of her breasts. The softness only roused the dragon—and his own hungry—further and he curled his fingernails into her skin before pinching the jutting tip.

Morgan le Fay’s eyelids fluttered and then opened as her back arched toward his hand. For a long moment she regarded him distantly, her blue eyes hazed with the power filling her. Her hips shifted as she rubbed her thighs together. Then she said, “You’re glowing?”

Shirou glanced down and saw the red glyphs covering his body shining. “They feed on blood.”

She looked around, her eyes widening and her nostrils flaring as she finally noticed all the dead men in the clearing. “What…? When?”

With a harsh laugh, Shirou said, “You were busy moaning as you rode the dragon.” He moved his hand from her breast to her shoulder and pulled her upright. “Come. Take me to where you purify yourself, and we’ll do it again.”

She’d lost any inclination to argue, although she winced as the reddened backs of her thighs brushed over the icy bark of the tree. When she walked ahead of him out of the clearing, the flex of her ass as she stepped over bodies made him want to pull her back and take her yet again purely for his own pleasure. He resisted. It would be all the sweeter soon enough.

Through the woods she led him, to a river where frozen reeds emerged from the icy crust along the bank. The deep water moved slowly, with ice rimming the large rocks protruding from the river’s heart. It was a place of purity and death and Shirou silently approved. This was a place where, washed by the river, pain and emptiness could open you to the voice of God, or the world, or your own darkest desires.

“I keep a basket over there,” said Morgan, pointing at a mound of snow under a tree. “Bathing and purification supplies. It’s frozen.”

“Is that a hindrance for you now?” he asked, and laughed again. She reminded him of the naked trees in the wood, with her pale, slender frame crowned by a wild mass of golden hair. He went to her and ran his hands up her hips to the sides of her breasts, watching in pleasure as she bit her lip and her gaze turned inward.

When she focused on him again, the hunger in her gaze stiffened his cock. “I need your help,” she whispered. When he only raised an eyebrow at her and smirked, her cheeks reddened. “Make me… make me hot again. If you… if I can… I could…” She trailed off, looking down. “I think I could do some magic.”

Even the dragon paused its whispering in his soul to contemplate the girl’s adorable confusion in fascination. A rumble of amusement in his chest, Shirou said, “Tell me _exactly _what you want me to do, lady, and this one time, I’ll obey.”

Though her gaze remained down, her flush deepened and her lips parted. His breath hissed through his teeth as raw lust jolted through him. Teasing her suddenly seemed like a far weaker pleasure than filling her yielding mouth with his tongue or his cock.

“Kiss me,” she breathed. “Touch me—” He needed no more from her before he claimed those lips, thrusting his tongue within. When she responded by sucking on his tongue instead of struggling, he almost impaled her on his cock then and there. The dragon would be served eventually no matter what, so why not?

Then she caught his hands and moved them over her breasts and he recalled telling her he’d obey. Such honeyed, intoxicating torment this girl could inflict on him already. But he massaged her breasts in his hands, squeezing tenderly and letting them overflow before rubbing his thumbs in circles around the peaks. She liked that, no doubt, as she broke away from his mouth and said, “Oh—oh! That, that, please…” Her eyes closed and then she yanked herself away from him as she flushed bright red all over.

The snow at her feet sizzled and turned to water vapor as she walked over to the tree she’d indicated. After a moment, she knelt and picked up a woven basket and carried it to the river’s edge, where she unpacked all the miscellaneous things she thought she needed for purification.

He held himself back a moment, although he didn’t give a shit about the basket’s contents. It was her first conscious use of the new power he’d spilled into her and taking the triumph from her would weaken the end result. So he waited… but only for a moment.

Then he stalked over to her and picked her up, walking out into the river with her. She stilled in his arms, still holding a small brush and a bag of cleansing crystals. Her skin felt impossibly feverish, which only fanned the flames of his own desire. It was almost touching when she said, “I… don’t want to burn you. I didn’t think… I don’t know how to turn it off.”

“I do,” said Shirou, grinning down at her. “But first, purification.” When he was waist deep in the river, he opened his arms and dropped her.

“Aah!” she cried and then the water closed over her head. He placed his hands on her overheated shoulders and held her under for a scant few seconds. As soon as he released her, she shot up, sputtering and furious as she hadn’t been when he’d rubbed snow onto her breasts.

Still grinning, Shirou backed away, towards the big, icy rocks at the center of the river. She followed him, her eyes blazing and the entire river warming as if it had been basking in the sun on a summer’s day.

As it did, all the blood and filth they’d both accumulated in the clearing sluiced away, crimson threads twisting their way around the ice that still bobbed in the heated river. The smell of it filled his nose for a moment and he remembered not just the hunters he’d killed but all the blood he’d spilled in the war, and everything he’d traded away for victory.

His smile faded. He let it all go, washed away by the river, and watched the girl advance on him with hooded eyes. He’d committed so many sins already that repeatedly violating this girl might as well be considered his redemption.

When she reached him, the water just lapping under her breasts, and her hair a slick golden fall down her back, her fury almost comically vanished. Clearly she had no plan for what to do once she’d caught him. She caught her breath as she stared up at him and once again her lips parted.

Once again he yanked her to him, savagely kissing her as he rubbed her fevered core across the top of his cock. Just a little tease, for him and for her, but he hadn’t yet begun to torment her, or teach her the truth about purity. So after she’d brought her knees up, putting her feet on the rock behind him and trying to angle herself onto his cock like a beast in heat, he turned her around. Holding her against his chest with his hands under her knees and her legs spread wide, he turned them both to face the onrushing current.

“Have you ever done this while bathing?” he said in her ear. “Open your legs to the river, spread your folds and let it fuck you?”

She gave a short, startled shake of her head, and her thighs flexed against his iron grip as she instinctively tried to protect herself from the rushing water.

“Use your hands. Do it now,” he commanded, and after a tiny hesitation, she put her fingers between her legs. He looked down, through the valley between her breasts and watched as she delicately touched herself, and his own cock twitched against her ass. “Mind, the river can’t fuck you right. Not unless you summon its dragon and spit yourself on its cock—you can try that another day, when my dragon is done with you. Yeah, the river is a shit lover, but you feel now what it _can_ do: wash into you. Stimulate you. Carry away the secrets you hide and leave you open for something better.”

He released one of her legs and slid his fingers up her thighs until they met her own. He adjusted the position of her little hand before covering it with his own and plunging a single finger into her core. Even after taking his rod three times already, she was so tight that the sensation of her inner walls clenching around his finger made him groan into her hair. She moaned with him, her fingers working harder where he’d placed them.

Then, after gasping as he slowly withdrew his finger and pushed it in again, she asked, “But… but is this pure? The priests say—”

“To hell with the priests,” he told her. “And fuck purity.” He added a second finger and continued slowly penetrating her with them.

Her breath shortened, changing unevenly with the movement of his fingers. She tilted her head back to give him a wide-eyed, confused look. “But—”

“No buts. Purity is death, Morgan le Fay. This river is purest when frozen solid. Nothing lives there. Now that you’ve warmed it, all the processes of life have started moving. Stay here long enough and the river will be swimming with everything wholesome and unwholesome, but it damn well won’t be _pure_.”

He released her other leg while she thought this over, moving that hand up to her breasts once again, pressing against her hard peaks. Then he withdrew his fingers from her core—they definitely weren’t his preferred fucking instrument—and she whined wordlessly.

“What?” he said in her ear. “Are you feeling purified? Or do you want something else?”

She whined again. “I don’t… I don’t know if you’re right about purity. I think… maybe a little purity is required for life? But… but oh, my lord. The river isn’t enough. My fingers aren’t enough. I need _more_.”

“More?” he asked encouragingly.

“Your… your manhood. Put it in me… please?”

He murmured, “All you had to do was ask nicely.” He skillfully positioned her back against the rock before slowly, slowly shoving his cock in her up to the hilt. Even after letting the river flow into her, she was still hot and slippery, welcoming him like she’d spent hours touching herself while thinking of him.

As he paused deep within her, her silken treasure clenched around him. She mumbled, “Oh, yes…!” When she looked up at him, her pink tongue darted out to moisten already wet lips.

That was too much for Shirou and his dragon. Though he’d started slow, toyed with the idea of teasing her more, he could no longer restrain himself. He began to slam into her, grinding her ass against the rock with each thrust as he captured her mouth, filling that second hole with his tongue. Her core squeezed him in time with his thrusts. She pushed her tongue against his own and wrapped her legs around his back.

Her fingernails scratched down his chest, the small pain only making him wilder. He needed her wet mouth, needed this the scattered sharp pain as her fingernails broke the skin. Morgan le Fay’s little body was the sweetest thing he’d ever wrapped his hands around and even as wet and juicy as she was, she fit him like a glove.

The dragon swept through him, pushing him to even more energetic efforts. His hands tangled in her wet hair, pulling her head back so he could bite her neck and leave another lasting mark of his claim. His hips moved like a piston, driving against her, harder, harder as her fingernails raked his shoulders and she moaned, “More, more, _more!”_

Then the dragon’s release swept over him and once again Shirou spilled into the young sorceress. He kept pumping as her core convulsively squeezed, milking him for every drop of empowered seed. His grip on her hair loosened as the waves of pleasure took over his mind.

She freed her head, bent forward and bit his shoulder violently as she came. The pain of her sharp young teeth seemed to strike something deep within him. Although the dragon was temporarily sated, needing no more from this place of water, his own erection instantly returned. He captured her mouth again, biting her lips and tongue as he swelled within her and once again began to fuck her.

They continued like this for longer than even Shirou would have imagined: him fucking her and marking her throat and collarbone each time a wave of pleasure broke across his nerves, and then instantly being aroused for another round by thebrutal little bites she inflicted upon her own orgasm.

Although her magical heat slowly faded, by then the rock had molded itself to her shoulders and backside and the water would be warm for hours after. As exhaustion finally started overwhelming Morgan and her dark lord pumped into one more time, her glazed gaze noticed something over Shirou’s glazed shoulder, near the shore where her basket remained.

A man, tall and lithe, stood with his feet in the water, dressed in a frothy green-blue robe, with long, thin horns curling back from his brow. A man, but not, with pointed ears and the narrow pupils of a dragon. At his side stood a pure white wolf with eyes like the sky. The tall figure watched as she coupled with her lord, his gaze unsettlingly intent. She had the curious impression that he’d been watching a long time. That he _knew_ her, nearly as intimately as the man in her arms.

Then she blinked, and the river dragon was gone. As Shirou once again scraped his teeth across her throat and jerked within her, Morgan le Fay wondered if she’d seen anything at all. Then another orgasm swept over her, and she forgot everything in the blindness of bliss.


	4. Beast IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays. I hope you enjoy whatever light and warmth you can find in the long dark.

When Morgan opened her eyes, she found she had been lain beside the river. Her lord crouched beside her, idly spinning two beach pebbles in one hand so they clacked together intermittently. Warmth radiated from the mark he’d placed on her stomach, and his own tattoos, once black and crimson, now shimmered very faintly blue.

She met his gaze and once again failed to see her reflection within his eyes. They were like the topaz sky of sunset, except for when he rode her the hardest and they became an endless starless night.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, the stones still clacking between his fingers.

Morgan shifted her legs and sat up, running her fingers over her neck and shoulders, down her body, across her thighs. Her own soft touch felt nice, calling up shivery memories of what he’d done to her, much more roughly and over and over, in order to kindle the power she felt burning within her now. Yet the bruising and scratching she’d had before entering the river had vanished entirely.

When she shook her head, he said, “Good. But you must eat, and very soon.” He wrapped his calloused hand around her wrist and rose to his feet, pulling her up after him.

“We could go to my cottage. I have stocks in my pantry. But surely you need food too, my lord?”

He only shrugged, as if it didn’t matter one way or another if he ate. “If you wish.”

Pensively, she led him through the winter wood to her cottage. He walked silently behind her, as he seemed to prefer, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She no longer considered it worth noticing the cold as she walked through the snow, but she steered around the clearing full of dead men.

Of everything that had happened to her today, that bothered her the most. Not her lord’s violence, but that she had been utterly oblivious. Not just oblivious, but _orgasmic_. He’d not even been _touching_ her, but she’d been absolutely senseless with the pleasure thrumming through every nerve. She’d gained a little knowledge of pleasures of the flesh via stories of others, and those who’d spoken of coupling had never described such mindless, consuming bliss. It was… odd.

Entering her cottage felt like entering another world. The scent of the first time he’d taken her lingered in the still air, while the earliest light of dawn slipped golden fingers through the fastness of the shutters. She went to the fireplace to rekindle the coals, and this time, although she felt his gaze on her, he didn’t stop her.

At first she knelt naked on the hearthrug, but after watching the sparks fly around the mouth of the bellows, she rose and took the apron hanging beside the fireplace. Usually it protected her clothes; today it would protect her skin from, if not pain, at least inconvenience.

She went to tie the apron behind her back, and her lord was there, his nails lightly scratching her lower back as he made a bow. Then, his hands sliding down her backside as he tightened the bow, he bit her neck in the gentle way of a fond animal before saying, “What will you eat?”

Breathlessly, Morgan said, “Let me look in the pantry.” But when he bit her neck again, scraping his teeth across her skin rather than trying to leave a mark, she didn’t pull herself away. How could she, when his roaming hands, touching her through her apron, reminded her of such bliss while his teeth made her want to pull his mouth to her breasts?

“Ah…” he said regretfully as he lifted his head. “If you don’t eat, your every wound will return sevenfold. Go see to your pantry and I will build up your precious fire.”

Morgan obediently went to stare into the dimness of her pantry, and then spent a moment trying to find an appetite for anything other than her lord. At last, almost at random, she filled a small basket with eggs, mushrooms, a knob of butter and a few other ingredients before turning away.

The fire in the hearth had been built to an inferno that he crouched before. It was far too big to cook on and she opened her mouth in consternation. But before she could say anything, he gave her a wry, amused look. “It will be ready before you are.” He glanced back at the fire. “This much I still remember…”

Doubtfully, Morgan went back to the hearth, kneeling beside him in her apron. “I have eggs, my lord. They’re fast. And some jam pastries, only two days old. And I thought the mushrooms might be nice.”

His hands twitched before closing into fists and he rose to his feet suddenly. “Do what you need to. Eat as much as you need to. If you fail due to something as stupid as hunger backlash, I’ll be very angry.” Then he moved away, inspecting her shelves and supplies as if he had no interest at all in what she did at the hearth.

She worked at putting together the meal, making more food than she’d normally eat in a week. If she needed food for magical reasons, surely he did as well. She had the mushrooms salted and sautéed, scallions chopped, eggs cracked and stirred, and the jam pastries warming on the hearth when he returned to her.

Initially, he was just a presence at her back. She glanced up at him once, saw the fire glinting in his dark eyes, and looked down again quickly, frightened and confused by the momentary reflection in his eyes. When, a moment later, he crouched down behind her and ran his fingers through her hair, she stopped herself from pouring the eggs in with the scallions and mushrooms. Carefully she set the bowl down safely, her eyes slitting closed as he gently tugged his way through the snarls the night had left.

As her hair moved against her back and the tangles were unknotted, he muttered, “Your hair is so golden…”

She was sure she heard sadness in his voice, and she couldn’t bear it. Even as he held her hair, she rotated so she could kiss him, as she’d kissed him on the riverbank. Her mouth opened against his and for an instant he was still with surprise. Then his fingers twisted painfully in her hair and he took over the kiss, driving his tongue against hers. She gasped, rubbing her chest against him and cursing the apron that made it harder for him to touch her.

Then he was laying her on the hearthrug, his weight settling on her. She was ready, _eager_, for him to take her again, dragon’s power or no. How could food compare to this?

But he was oddly slow this time, and at last dragged his mouth away from hers. One hand cupping her breast through the apron, he said, “You really must eat, Morgan le Fay. Please don’t make me cook for you.” His mouth twisted bitterly as he added, “I’d poison us both these days.”

“But I want _you_,” she said fretfully. Food meant nothing to her, but the ache between her legs would consume her if left unfilled. Then she frowned as what he’d said filtered through her lust. Somehow his words were as wrong as that brief reflection in his eyes, the reflection that was now absent once again. “No. I’ll finish cooking. But you’ll eat too, my lord. It won’t be too much longer.”

As if nothing had happened, she turned back to the hearth. This time when he touched her again, she set her jaw and focused on the cookery instead of concentrating on his fingers as they drew through her hair and moved like the lightest breeze down to the curve of her back. The mushrooms and scallions spit and sizzled in their bath of butter as once again the pan came to temperature, while her lord nibbled his way along her shoulder, his hands massaging her hips at the edge of her apron.

She had the sense he was being gentle under the _very mistaken_ idea that it wouldn’t disturb her cooking if he only touched her lightly. But she did her best, because he’d commanded it, and because she wouldn’t get what she wanted until she’d paid the price for the healing he’d done.

By the time the eggs were ready, he’d slid his hands under her apron so that his fingers pressed into her stomach. He’d moved closer too, so that he had his knees on either side of her legs and his hard manhood pressed longwise against the cleft in her backside. He pressed his brow against her shoulder and his ragged breath ruffled her hair against her back.

“Food,” she whispered.

“Eat,” he growled. “Quickly.”

Morgan pressed her lips together and leaned forward, pulling away from him. “Come around and eat as well, my lord. I’m a good cook, at least for some things. Try it and see.”

He made a muffled sound and released her. As he moved beside her and she placed the pan between them, he said, “It won’t matter. I don’t taste food anymore.”

She ran a critical eye over his physique. He was powerful both magically and physically, no doubt, but with her own newly earned power burning in her chest, she could see past his aura to the carelessly nourished body beneath. “But you could once?”

His gaze darkened and the implacable being she’d first met flashed across his features. It was answer enough. She said, “Then eat, and I’ll taste for you.”

“Morgan, your nonsense is wasting my—” He blinked as she popped a loaded spoon in his mouth.

“That tastes mostly like butter, with more savoriness from the eggs,” she told him. “The eggs have a little bit of salt and the scallions have a bite near the sides of your tongue.”

She ate another bite herself as he slowly chewed and swallowed. Frowning, he took the spoon from her, pushed some scrambled egg mixture into her mouth and took a second bite for himself.

When he then raised a grudging eyebrow at her, she spoke, “More scallions this time. Roughly chopped. You can taste the sweetness through the eggs that way. The mushrooms are earthy under the butter, like your—” she stopped, flushing at a memory, and then made herself continue as her gaze lowered. “Like your skin down there.”

She looked up to see the wicked smile curving his mouth. She liked it, but it came at the exact time the first two bites hit her stomach. With a painful growl, her appetite roared to life and she was suddenly _starving_. “More,” she commanded urgently, not even trying to wrest the spoon from him.

He fed her another bite, mostly egg, and took more scallions for himself. “Yes, this texture I do like,” he said with that smile lingering.

When she opened her mouth to describe her latest mouthful, he instead pushed in another spoon of mushrooms. The spoon stayed in her mouth just a moment longer than required before he removed it. “Hush now and eat quickly. But chew properly.” Then he fed her three spoonfuls for every one he took, and she held her hair away from her face and accepted each one, feeling as if the food was vanishing into a bottomless pit.

When the pan was empty, she looked at the jam pastries still warming on the hearth. He picked one up, sniffed the raspberry jam and took a small, crumbling bite between his teeth. Then he pushed the rest against her mouth, holding it there as she took first one bite and then another. She glanced up, saw the hungry look in his eyes, and turned her face away from the final bite. “The jam’s been sweetened with honey, because the berries were tart this year. I sprinkled a little sugar in the pastry, but mostly it tastes of butter. Not like the eggs, though. There’s barely any salt and it’s more for texture than anything.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and the firelight danced in his faraway gaze. This time, it warmed her rather than frightening her, and she leaned over and took the final bite of the first pastry from his fingers. His gaze snapped back to her, once again the topaz sky, but she liked that too. “Let’s eat the rest,” she told him. “Right now.”

He gave that dry rasp that passed for his laugh and shared the remaining three pastries with her, making she got most of the tangy, sticky jam. When she swallowed the final bite, she caught his hand and, feeling very brazen, licked his fingers clean as she watched his reaction. His eyes narrowed into a brooding expression she recognized with a thrill.

Once his fingers had been sufficiently cleaned, he pulled them free and caught the back of her head, saying with a feral smile, “My turn.”

Effortlessly, he yanked her to him, pulling her to straddle him and capturing her mouth with his own. Her lips instantly parted and his tongue licked inside her mouth. She tasted the dusting of pastry on his own mouth as he stroked sweetness out of hers.

Pushing the apron up to her hips, he traced the join between her pelvis and legs with his nails. She shivered and squirmed and he nipped her mouth and moved his hands down again, tickling the dusting of hair on her thighs. Her calves flexed around him and she tugged fitfully at the apron that served as a guard between his member and her core before sliding her hands up his chest.

When his hands travelled up her torso over the apron, she rose on her knees. As he dragged the apron shoulders down her arms to exposing her breasts, she rocked back and forth against his hard flesh. Still kissing her like she was dessert, he brushed his fingers along her collarbone and down her arms until he reached the swell of her breasts.

He stroked the curve of her rounded softness once before his caged wildness finally escaped the leash he’d had it on. Squeezing her breasts hard, he broke from kissing her and shoved her back against the hearthrug. His head bent over her chest, he flicked one of the buds tipping her breasts with his wet tongue.

Her back arched and he slipped a hand beneath her, pressing her up against his mouth. “My lord,” she whimpered. “I wanted to taste you again.” She fumbled a hand below his waist in support of her plea, reaching out for what she wanted.

He caught first one hand and then her other, dragging them over her head as he rose to look down at her. His eyes glittered as he said, “Soon, Morgan, I promise. Soon, but not here, you’ll be filled as you can’t imagine. But first, I want this pleasure to take with me.”

Moving down her body again, he said, “Ah, and it’s your own fault. You pushed me too hard with your sweetness and your ass in this apron.” He dug his fingers into where it bunched around her hips. Then he lifted her lower body, shrugging under one knee, and began to lick her between her legs.

This time he was far less leisurely than he’d been in the clearing, tasting her the nub at her core with a few swipes of his tongue before moving on to a wider exploration of the region. She convulsed against his mouth as he stimulated rarely touched nerve endings. Catching his head in her hands, she instinctively tried to steer him. When his tongue pushed within her, she cried out, not with pleasure but with naked need. His tasting of her felt good, but soft and slow, and she felt like if only he’d fill her with something stiff and hard, she’d shatter in ecstasy.

“Please, my lord,” she moaned. “I want you. Be kind…”

He lifted his head, replacing his mouth with his hand as he straightened. “I did not come here to be kind, Morgan le Fay.” His fingers moved within her, pressing upwards until a sensation half-pleasure, half-pain swept over her. Her back arched again and she cried out.

“So, you see, your own kindness to me was wasted.”

“N-never,” she gasped, remembering the firelight in his eyes.

In response, he stroked her firmly again, using his other hand to push on her belly just above her pubic mound. This time the sensation was so intense she screamed. Before the prior sensation had faded, he did it again and then again.

“Have you always been so sensitive, I wonder?” he mused, his voice drifting through the crackling sensation cocooning her. “Or has the dragon’s power made you so?”

“My lord,” she begged, before he ripped another shriek from her. “Oh God!” Every inch of her skin felt ablaze with what he did to her.

“How does it feel?” he asked, pushing again. “Taste it for me.”

She sobbed at how overwhelming it was, and then gasped for breath, for words. He moved his fingers again, but more softly and with a steadier rhythm. Waves of pleasure rippled through her but compared to before, she could at least think, if not clearly. “Knives,” she mumbled. “It felt like the knives of God, digging into me and ripping out everything that made me human. This is… oh…” She trailed off, moving her hips. “This is the shadow of revelation… my lord, won’t you come inside me? You promised me more. I _need_ more. I need you. I need your manhood—”

“My cock,” he corrected. “Say it.”

“I need your… your cock.” She almost stumbled over the very masculine word. “Please.”

He withdrew his fingers from within her. “On your knees, then.”

Eagerly, she rolled over and push herself onto her knees. When she looked over her shoulder at him, he pulled her hips back and drove himself into her all the way to the hilt. She tightened her muscles as he filled her the way she’d been craving since coming home. His breath hissing between his teeth, he pulled her upright and held her tightly by one of her arms and by a hand fisted in her hair.

“This is what you want?” he asked from between clenched teeth.

She leaned forward a little, feeling the tug against her hair and the pressure of his cock against that place inside. Placing her free hand over her pubic mound as he’d told her to do in the river, she rubbed her fingers through her hair there and thought of what it had felt like to squeeze his cock as she’d sucked at it. “Yes…” she breathed, a tremble rippling through her abdomen. “Yes, I want this.”

“Good,” said her lord. “To hell with the dragon right now.” He began to thrust, using his grip on her hair and her arm to pull her to meet each thrust.

She tilted her head back as she touched herself, each slam of his hips raising echoes of that overwhelming feeling from before. Oh yes, she wanted this. Yes. This time yesterday she’d been worried about where she’d be in a year if the local lord didn’t stop bothering her. She’d feared being forced to be his doxy, cursed her lack of power to protect herself.

And now the devil had come to her. He’d promised power, but the true gift given to her was an awakening she couldn’t have imagined. An awakening, magical power, and _freedom_. She understood her body as she never had before, as she’d been _frightened_ to do before. Her body could make her mind fly free, and her body could make the dark lord himself groan and gasp with desperate need.

His breath was hoarse and rasping as he plunged into her, and she knew he was close. Suddenly wild for more contact, she clawed his hand away from her hair and put it on her breast before returning to frantically rubbing herself.

He squeezed her breast, rolling the tip between his fingers, and then released her arm to put his other hand over hers. The rhythm of his forceful fucking changed as he drew her back against him, taking over the act of pleasuring her so that all she could do was drive her fingernails into his arms. She bit her lip and reached behind herself for him. As soon as her fingers brushed over the smoothly flexing muscles of his hips, the mounting pleasure broke in a tidal wave sweeping over her: not exactly the same as what he’d triggered before with his fingers, but just as overwhelming. She couldn’t even cry out, instead sagging back against him and shivering.

When he pushed her forward again and returned to slamming into her frenetically, she was only distantly aware, supporting herself on her lower arms as he pumped into her. No surge of power here, she did notice. It was like when he’d taken her over and over again in the river, after the first time: sex just between them, without the interference of his draconic familiar.

As she floated on lazy clouds of bliss, she hoped her lord would lie down with her on the hearthrug when he was done, as a man might with his mistress. For surely he _was_ a man as well as a dark spirit; the meal had proven that to her. It would be nice to have that memory when he was gone.

When he was gone… And what, she wondered, would she do than to fill herself? Would she be able to find anybody who could do it so well?

As he collapsed beside her, stroking her hip, she put her head on his shoulder. _No_, she mused sleepily. _Maybe the river dragon… but probably not._ And, so thinking, she drifted off into the gentle bliss of a dozing afterglow.


End file.
